


Here For You

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cancer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can come back and be with me. Just close your eyes, and I'll be there</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here For You

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in a way by My Sister's Keeper.
> 
> disclaimer: this is entirely fictional, isn't meant to infer anything about these actual people. don't share this with anyone that it's written about, please

When you’re young , you never concentrate on anything other than living in the moment. You’re young, you’re healthy, and you’re beautiful. You never think about the consequences of your actions. You never stop and think – why me? Why do I get it so good, and others don’t?  
  
  
All it takes is one second for everything to change.  
  
  
One bit of devastating news, and suddenly, those consequences, your future – it all flashes before your eyes, and you start to see your life in a new light. You start living more carefully, suddenly aware of everything that could go wrong.  
  
  
Cancer is a tricky disease.  
  
  
It can eat you from the inside out, if you let it.  
  
 **+  
  
** All Harry could hear was his own heart beating.  
  
  
The room seemed to drain of oxygen; at least, it seemed that way when Harry tried to take a breath. His doctor spoke long and slow and time seemed to halt in that moment. The white lights seemed to grow brighter and Harry looked around the room, taking snapshots of the moment.  
  
  
His mum, with her eyes closed and a shaking hand pressed over her mouth.  
  
  
Gemma’s hand, reaching out for him before falling limply, her face pressed into their mum’s blouse, sobs muffled by the silk.  
  
  
The doctor stared at him expectantly; all that he heard was the heavy _lug-lug-lug_ of his heart, the rush of blood to his ears. Clearing his throat, he smiled and extended a hand, thanking the doctor and shuffling over to his mum and sister, who immediately enveloped him in the middle of a very tight hug.  
  
  
Adrenocortical carcinoma. Two words that rolled off of Harry’s tongue so easily, so fluid, like they’ve been there the entire time.  
  
  
During the car ride home, Harry looked out the window at the sky and at the sun. He texted Niall, Zayn and Liam, mentioned that he had important news to share, said it wasn’t a big deal and he’d tell them later, if they’d like to meet up. He ignored his mum’s probing questions and her sighs, ignored the way Gemma whimpered in the back seat, how her cries seemed to echo.  
  
  
He locked himself in the bathroom as soon as he got home, took deep breaths and studied himself in the mirror. Sixteen and beautiful, and too young to have cancer. Smooth skin and a wide smile. Straight, white teeth and dimples that made all the girls blush. Shining green eyes with blown pupils and long, dark lashes.  
  
  
A head full of gorgeous brown curls.  
  
  
When he came downstairs, head newly shaven and a beanie stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans, his sister screamed and his mother cried. Harry shrugged, told them he was meeting up with his friends and he’d be back later. He glared when his mom demanded he be home by sunset, pushed her hands off the lapels of his coat and walked out the door to the park, where his three best friends were waiting.  
  
  
All three cried when he told them he had cancer.  
  
  
Harry allowed himself to cry as well.  
  
  
-  
  
Harry hated the days he had chemo.  
  
  
He hated how nauseous the drugs made him feel. He really hated how they made him look. His skin, which used to be tan and lovely, looked as though he hadn’t seen the sun for days – pale, blue and green and purple veins visible throughout. He couldn’t look at food without wanting to throw up, and some days he did vomit. His mouth was always dry and he was thinner than ever before and he was always, _always_ tired.  
  
  
Sixteen, and less beautiful, and still too young to have cancer.  
  
  
His mom was working double shifts to ensure that they had all the money they needed to give her son a proper treatment. Harry had tried to convince her to stop, and when she had visibly gotten upset – lips quivering and blue eyes welling up with tears, a low and shaky voice that begged _please, Harry, I have to_ – he had given her a hug and a kiss to the cheek, whispered a thank you in her ear and had left her alone.  
  
  
This meant that he didn’t always have a hand to hold during treatment. Not that Harry would have asked, anyways – he was intent on beating this thing alone, not succumbing to a child-like state in which he wept and asked for his mum. This also meant that most days, Harry had to wait around the hospital for a bit, until his mum got out of work and could come get him.  
  
  
He had been pacing around the treatment center for a bit, absent-mindedly looking at the neutral-toned walls and breathing through his mouth, so the smell of stale and grotesque hospital food wouldn’t make him queasy. He knew he should have been sitting down, resting, but he was as good as dead if he let the cancer slow him down this early in the game.  
  
  
His head felt funny and the room seemed to grow black at the edges.  
  
  
Harry woke up on the floor of a hallway, a boy he didn’t know looking down at him with panic all over his face.  
  
  
“Oh – _oh thank God_ ,” the boy breathed, as Harry slowly blinked up at him. “I’d just turned the corner and saw you fall – um, you weren’t out for long, not nearly long enough for me to call for help.” The boy reached out for him, but retracted his hands, biting his lip. “Do you, um, do you want me to get some help?”  
  
  
“No!” Harry sat up quickly and the whole hallway went spinning. Blinking his eyes a few more times, he shook his head. “Help won’t be necessary, thank you.”  
  
  
“Can you stand?” The boy stood up and looked around wildly. “Um, do you want me to help you? I can just -”  
  
  
“No,” Harry repeated, taking his time as he got to his feet. He looked around, making sure none of his nurses had been around to see him faint, and turned back to the boy, who shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “I _already_ said, help won’t be necessary, thank you.”  
  
  
The boy held up his hands in defense, raising his eyebrows. “Alright, I get it. No need to get so nasty, mate. Not every day I see a kid your age just up and collapse in the middle of the place.”  
  
  
“I didn’t _collapse_ ,” Harry snapped, adjusting his beanie. “I was just – I’m thirsty and tired, alright? You can leave now. I don’t need your help.”  
  
  
The boy pushed a hand through his swoopy brown hair and folded his arms, grinning. “Chemo’s got someone a bit fiesty, yeah?”  
  
  
“What are you talking about?” Harry rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. “I haven’t gone through chemo. I’m sixteen. Don’t be ridiculous.”  
  
  
“Oh, of course not,” The kid quipped, grinning even wider. “That’s why you’ve fainted just outside the treatment center, and –” He reached out and grabbed Harry’s arm, rolling the sleeve of his white shirt up to reveal a purpling bruise in the crease of his elbow. “ – that’s why you’ve gotten a bruise from an IV.” He dropped Harry’s arm, wrinkling his nose and pressing his lips together. “But _no_ , you haven’t gone through chemo.”  
  
  
Harry gaped at the boy, before narrowing his eyes and pulling his sleeve down hastily. “Alright, so what if I have?” He started to walk away and stopped, turning around to glare some more. “You’re a _bit_ intrusive, don’t you agree?”  
  
  
The boy nodded his head vigorously. “Oh, of course I am – comes with the job, mate.”  
  
  
“Right, like _you_ work _here_.”  
  
  
“Haven’t been hired yet, no, but I am going to uni for it in the fall. Doctor, and all that. Right now, I’m volunteering.” The boy waltzed forward, thrusting out his hand. “Louis Tomlinson.”  
  
  
Harry shook his hand limply, anxious to get out of there. “Harry Styles.”  
  
  
“Pleasure to meet you. What kind of cancer has got you down, Harry Styles?”  
  
  
“It hasn’t gotten me down,” Harry said bluntly. “Adrenocortical carcinoma.”  
  
  
“Ah, of the adrenal glands,” Louis shook his head. “What a bummer..”  
  
  
“Not really, since I’m going to beat it.” Louis raised his chin, barely suppressing an eye roll, and Harry resisted the urge to reach out and slap him. “I _am_ going to beat it.”  
  
  
“Right, well,” Louis gestured to the opposite end of the hallway, smiling. “I have business to do, but I’m sure I’ll see you around here another time, Harry Styles.”  
  
  
“Hopefully not,” Harry threw back, watching as Louis tipped his head back and laughed. “But until then.”  
  
  
“Have a nice day,” Louis’ voice carried down the hallway. “And don’t faint again.”  
  
  
“I won’t,” Harry called back.  
  
  
As he climbed in his mum’s car, Harry noticed that he was feeling dizzier than before, fainting and chemo and Louis Tomlinson spinning in his mind.  
  
  
 **+**  
  
Months had passed by, and Harry was hopeful.  
  
  
He was used to the way he looked – weak and small and sickly, polar opposites from before. It had stopped bothering him months ago. Sixteen, beautiful in a different way, still too young to have cancer. Everything about him was still there – the dimples and the straight teeth, the big green eyes – just in a more subdued, quiet shade.  
  
  
Sometimes, he’d catch himself reaching up to run a hand through his curls, before remembering that they were long gone.  
  
  
He was used to the treatment center, used to sitting in a big chair with IVs hooked up to his arm, warm socks on his feet and a book on his lap to pass the time. He was able to wind his way through countless novels – novels by Emily Dickenson, J.D Salinger, Shakespeare and J.K Rowling. He’d try to keep up with his classes at school, try to do all the work that Gemma picked up for him, as long as his headaches and nausea weren’t prohibiting him.  
  
  
Somewhere along the way, none other than Louis Tomlinson decided to befriend Harry.  
  
  
The first few times Louis had sat down, Harry had kept his eyes trained on his lap and nodded half-heartedly to whatever Louis was saying. As much as Harry was determined to beat the disease, he was weary of making new friends, not sure if he had room for any in his life. He was hesitant to answer any personal questions that Louis would ask – and there were plenty of them – and he rarely asked questions in return.  
  
  
Louis quickly won him over.  
  
  
For months, Louis would show up whenever Harry was scheduled for chemo, with a new book and an anecdote from his life that would leave Harry with cramps from laughter. On the days that Louis didn’t show up to chemo, Harry noticed that the disappointment seemed to radiate from the inside out – he’d go home that day noticeably irritable, not wanting to talk to anyone.  
  
  
Louis had brought his organic chemistry homework in that day and collapsed in the chair opposite Harry’s, his hands covering his face. “Have I ever mentioned how much I absolutely loathe orgo?” Harry grinned, beaming at the level of disgust in Louis’ voice. “I’d wipe the smirk off of your face, Styles – not in the proper mood at all.”  
  
  
“Poor Louis,” Harry cooed, pushing his lower lip out in a mock pout. “Complaining about the trials and tribulations of organic chemistry when the _rest_ of the room has cancer.”  
  
  
“So typical,” Louis scoffed, reaching over to flick Harry’s knee. “The one time I complain about my day and you pull the cancer card.”  
  
  
Harry chuckled and a shooting pain pierced his ribs. Leaning over and wincing, he mumbled audible swears under his breathe, and felt Louis’ hand tentatively hovering over his back. “I’m okay,” Harry bit out. “Just a bad cramp, is all.”  
  
  
“Do you need anything?”  
  
  
Harry raised his head, glaring at Louis. “Have I ever told you how much I hate when people ask me that?” Louis fell quiet as Harry straightened up, shaking his head. “Didn’t mean to snap at you, Lou. It’s just – it gets smothering, you know? Even Liam and them, when I ask to just hang out ‘cause I feel like being normal, someone is constantly offering me water or fluffing my pillows or just looking at me like I’ve already died.”  
  
  
Louis pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes fluttering shut. “Can you not talk about death, please?”  
  
  
“Sorry,” Harry shrugged. “It just gets on my nerves, is all.”  
  
  
“I just think that everyone’s trying to make you comfortable. None of them know what’s going on with you,” Louis suggested. “They try to make up for that by keeping you a bit too snug to their bosom.”  
  
  
“Yeah, well,” Harry licked his lips. “I’d rather not be near anybody’s bosom right now. Rather be alone, if I’m being honest.”  
  
  
Louis placed a hand over his heart, pulling a face of mock offense. “Well, sorry if I was trying to be a good friend!”  
  
  
“Not you,” Harry closed his eyes. “You don’t pity me. You accept the fact that this might be the thing that does me in and -”  
  
  
“Harry,” Louis breathed. “Can you not talk about death, please?”  
  
  
“Sorry, er – I forgot.” Harry studied Louis as his cheeks paled and his eyes squeezed shut. “Louis – are you alright? Do _you_ need anything?”  
  
  
The conversation fell silent. Harry looked down at his lap, where The Great Gasby lay dog-eared, and he picked it up, thumbing through the pages.   
  
  
“It’s not like – I know people die of cancer,” Louis said suddenly. Harry looked up from his book and shut it, watching as Louis stared down at his hands. “I know they do; I’m not dumb.”  
  
  
Harry reached forward, covered Louis’ hands with one of his. “Are you alright?”  
  
  
Louis stood up suddenly, shaking his head. “I, um, I’ll meet you up in the cafeteria after you’re done with all of this. Alright? I’ll see you then.” He turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the room as Harry leaned back in his seat, eyebrows knit.  
  
  
-  
  
  
Louis sat at a small table alone, a square piece of paper in his hands. Harry sat opposite him and looked at him curiously. His skin was tan and free of flaws, his hair a sandy brown and pushed off to the side. Blue eyes shining bright, he handed the piece of paper to Harry.  
  
  
A photograph of a small girl looked up at him. Her blonde hair was pulled into ponytails and she was grinning widely at the camera, her front teeth missing. Clad in a bright pink t-shirt and small overalls, she was sitting at a tricycle.  
  
  
She had the same eyes as Louis.  
  
  
Harry looked up from the photograph and offered Louis a smile. “She’s beautiful.”  
  
  
Louis nodded, staring down at the table. “She was, yeah.”  
  
  
A lump grew in Harry’s throat and he smoothed his thumb over the picture before handing it back to Louis. Louis looked at the photograph one more time, his eyes growing wet. Harry reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly.  
  
  
“You can tell me when you’re ready,” He kept his voice low and his eyes trained on Louis, who tucked the photograph away in his wallet before looking back up at Harry.  
  
  
“Mum had her when I was eleven. Her name was Emma, and God, she was gorgeous.” A small smile wound its way onto Louis’ lips and Harry squeezed his hand again. “We found the tumors when she was four and by that time, it was too late. She died when she was five. I was your age.”  
  
  
Harry bit his lips, continued to squeeze at Louis’ hands. “What kind of cancer?”  
  
  
Louis made a sound in his throat, somewhere between a choke and a sob and laughter. “Adrenocortical carcinoma.”  
  
  
Harry swallowed at the lump at his throat and stood up, walking around the table to hug Louis. He squeezed tighter and tighter, whispering nonsense and words that would never heal, and when he drew back, Louis’ eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks were wet.  
  
  
Harry went home that day and fell asleep with visions of a sixteen year old Louis and Emma, five and beautiful and way too young to have cancer.  
  
  
 **+  
  
**  
Winter approached slowly, with temperatures that made his hands ache, winds that whipped through Harry’s thin frame and a permanent chill that resided in his bones. With winter came more, excruciating rounds of chemo; more often and more powerful, controlling and weakening.  
  
  
Harry muffled his cries into his pillow as he listened to his mom call his principal in the other room, explaining that the treatments were too tough for Harry to continue his schooling.  
  
  
He was watching himself deteriorate, and an imminent panic that set his body ablaze told him that all the treatments weren’t working. He pushed himself harder, told himself that the chemo would be worth it in the long run, when he’d sit across from a doctor who would tell him that he was healed and that it would never return again.  
  
  
The worst part about all of this was missing everything that was going on around him. It was like he was living in a parallel universe, stuck with loud whirring machines and shiny silver needles as he watched his friends go about their lives. Sometimes he felt like he was entrapped in a glass case, only able to watch as his teenage years trudged along, never allowed to participate.  
  
  
“This fucking sucks,” He told Louis after treatment one day, feeling particularly pouty. He curled up against Louis’ side as Louis ran his fingers up and down his shoulder blades. “I’m missing everything, Louis – everything! Prom’s coming up, and Niall is bringing Caroline – she’s a senior! I should be bringing Caroline to prom!”  
  
  
“But you’re not,” Louis pointed out. “You’re stuck at chemo with me. You’ll get over it, Styles, you will. It’s just a senior girl.”  
  
  
“Yeah, just a senior girl,” Harry grumbled, nipping at Louis’ shoulder. “Her legs are fantastic.”  
  
  
Louis grinned, pulled up the leg of his sweatpants and wiggled around. “Mine are too.”  
  
  
Harry grinned back, nuzzled closer to Louis and yawned. “They are, yeah.”  
  
  
-  
  
  
Harry sat on his couch surrounded by his three best friends and did his best to smile normally. They were all clad in tuxedos; Liam and Niall with bowties and Zayn with a skinny black tie. Harry could see his reflection in the shine of their shoes; he wore a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants, an orange hat with a big fuzzy ball at the top pulled over his head.  
  
  
“Now one with the girls!” His mom ordered, and Caroline, Danielle and Perrie all stepped forward, thin bodies clad by silky dresses encrusted with rhinestones. They sat down around them, resting their hands on his shoulders and his knees, wide, whitened smiles all pointed towards Harry’s mum camera. Harry smiled big as his mates laughed in the background, the flash of the camera dizzying him.  
  
  
“Have fun tonight,” Harry said, his voice raspy. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”  
  
  
“That’s not saying much,” Zayn laughed, walking over to hug him. “I’ll miss you tonight, bro.”  
  
  
“I’ll miss you too,” Harry replied, casting his eyes downward.  
  
  
His friends hugged him goodbye and their dates pressed kisses to his cheeks, leaving smears of lipstick, bright against his skin. As they climbed in the limo, Harry watched from the window and tried not to cry.  
  
  
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” His mother wrapped him in a hug, pressing a kiss to his hat.  
  
  
Harry hugged her back tighter, allowing himself to break. “I am too.”  
  
  
His phone lit up later that night and he opened a text from Louis, his eyes scanning over the message carefully. _Saw the pics of prom on FB – you looked better than all of them! Even the girls, haha!  
  
  
_ He smiled, shook his head and ignored the way his cheeks heated up. _Thanks, haha..  
  
  
_ A few seconds later, his phone lit up again. _Anyways, wear something snazzy to your next treatment – I think Sheila the nurse said it was for Christmas cards? Wanted us to dress up.  
  
  
Ok_, Harry typed back, making a mental note to pick out the best outfit he owned.  
  
  
-  
  
  
A few weeks later, Harry showed up to treatment in a pair of dress shoes, beige pants, a white collared shirt and a navy blue blazer. His mum had bought him a navy blue beanie just for the occasion. He went through chemo, noticing Louis’ absence, and narrowed his eyes when nobody came to take his picture.  
  
  
As he put his blazer back on, Sheila came over and smiled at him, reaching up to fix his collar. “You’re so very handsome, Harry,” She cooed, and Harry beamed back at her. “They’re taking a picture down in the big room at the end of the hall. Why don’t you head on over?”  
  
  
Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and walked down towards the end of the hall, pushing the double doors open to a large room.  
  
  
The walls were strung with light blue streamers, and a disco ball hung from the ceiling. Slow music streamed from giant speakers and balloons were positioned around the room. Louis stood in the center, wearing a pair of dark pants and a light blue collared shirt, his hair styled.  
  
  
“Welcome,” He called in his best announcing voice, “to your prom, Harry Styles.”  
  
  
A smile spread across Harry’s face as he strode towards Louis, shaking his head. “You made this,” He spread his arms and gestured towards the room. “all for me?”  
  
  
“All for you!” Louis took a low bow and straightened up, putting his hands in his pockets. “I felt bad when you said you’d be missing your proms. I get to go to both of mine; it just doesn’t seem fair that you can’t go to even one.”  
  
  
Harry threw himself at Louis, wrapping him up in the tightest of hugs and pressing kisses to the side of his face. “You are one of the best people I know, Louis.”  
  
  
Laughing, Louis untangled himself from Harry, extending a hand. “May I have this dance, Harry Styles?”  
  
  
Beaming, Harry nodded, and allowed himself to take Louis’ hand. They danced, slow and clumsily and close together, music playing in the background. At the end of the song, Louis applauded loudly, walking over to a table and taking a golden crown off of a plush pillow he had stolen from one of the resting rooms.  
  
  
“Harry Styles, everyone!” He yelled, putting the crown over Harry’s beanie. “Your prom king.”  
  
  
They laughed and danced horribly around to Louis’ best attempt at a prom playlist. As Harry began to feel dizzy, they collapsed on to a couch, and Harry sidled up to Louis, resting his head on his shoulder as Louis wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer.  
  
  
“I really meant it,” Harry said softly, looking up at Louis. “You’re one of the best people I know.”  
  
  
“Thanks,” Louis smiled. “It’s just – I didn’t really expect to make a friend here, volunteering. I thought I’d work with a lot of old people, people who were close to um, you know, death and all that. I didn’t think I’d stumble on a sixteen year old boy fainting in the hallway on my first day.”  
  
  
“I still maintain that I didn’t faint,” Harry protested, shaking his head.   
  
  
“Right, you were just taking a quick nap. Chemo and all that, makes you tired,” Louis smiled. “I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem fair – between you and Emma, I just don’t understand it.”  
  
  
“I don’t think we’re supposed to understand,” Harry said. “I just think that stuff like this happens, and how you deal with it is the only thing that makes the difference between living and dying.” He sat up, shrugging. “I mean, what if I had left that doctor’s office that day thinking _well, it’s been a grand old time, I’ve lived a good life_ – I would have died within weeks.”  
  
  
“You’re right, I suppose,” Louis bit his lip and looked down. “But Emma didn’t know what dying was - why’d she have to go so quickly?”  
  
  
“I’m not sure,” Harry looked at Louis, reached out to smooth a thumb along the side of his face. “We meet everyone for a reason.”  
  
  
Louis looked down at his lap, a small smile playing on his lips. “Well, I’m glad I’ve met you.”  
  
  
He didn’t know why, but something was pulling at him inside and he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Louis, drawing back quickly. Louis smiled and leaned forward, cupping Harry’s jaw in his hand and kissing him longer, sweeter, until Harry felt like he was going to pass out – from chemo, from the lack of oxygen, from happiness.  
  
  
“I’m glad I’ve met you, as well,” Harry said.  
  
  
 **+  
  
**  
Harry knew his time was running out when he woke up one morning, coughing blood. Spring had arrived, and so had the warmer weather. A multitude of trips to the hospital, emergency surgery when his lung collapsed and tubes to drain the fluid out of his chest slowed him down.  
  
  
He sat his mum and Gemma down late on a Saturday night and explained his reasoning for wanting to stop treatment. They had cried, as he knew they would, had kissed his face and hugged him until they all had fell asleep, entangled on their mum’s bed.  
  
  
The only regret he had about stopping chemo was the fact that he wouldn’t get to see Louis as often as he used to. When he had called Louis and told him, he noticed how Louis’ voice faltered and knew that he was crying on the other end of the phone. Harry gave his address and told Louis he was welcome to stop by anytime he wanted, regardless of if Harry was feeling up to it or not.  
  
  
On days Louis wasn’t volunteering, he was at Harry’s house – reading him excerpts from novels, looking up small bits of useless information on the internet, like the fact that at least four people die yearly from vending machines. Gemma and his mum came to know and love Louis, and he often spent the night at Harry’s, curled up against his backside, an arm draped around Harry’s waist.  
  
  
“Do you love him?” Gemma had asked Louis one morning over tea. Harry pretended to busy himself in the living room, acted like he was listening too intently to the radio to overhear.  
  
  
Louis had looked in, smiled and nodded. “I do. I love him a lot.”  
  
  
Gemma had kissed Louis’ face and wept over her tea.  
  
  
-  
  
One afternoon, Louis had shown up at his house and dangled his keys in front of Harry’s face. “Let’s go, I’m bringing you somewhere.”  
  
  
“I’d rather not,” Harry said, and Louis grabbed his wrist, dragged him to the car.  
  
  
“I’ve talked to your mum and she’s fine with this. I’m blindfolding you and we’re going.”  
  
  
An hour later, Louis picked Harry up and carried him a few feet before setting him down on something squishy. The blindfold fell away and Harry was standing facing the ocean. The sand was warm and there was a chilly breeze, and Harry gaped at the miles and miles of dark blue water that stretched out before him.

“I heard you have a soft spot for the beach,” Louis said from behind him, and Harry turned around to him sitting, shoes off, on a flannel blanket. “Thought we’d make the most of all of this, give you a nice trip to the beach.”  
  
  
Harry sat down, crawled over and pressed a quick kiss to Louis, grinning. “I love the beach.”  
  
  
Louis grinned back, patted the spot next to him and threw an arm around Harry. “I know you do.”  
  
  
“I also – I love you, Louis,” Harry bit his lip and looked down at the blanket. “I um, I overheard you talking to Gemma that time – I didn’t want to say anything, not because I didn’t love you, just because I didn’t know when –”  
  
  
“God, you’re helpless,” Louis laughed. “I love you, Harry Styles – but you already knew that.”  
  
  
They laid down on the blanket, staring up at the sky. Hours seemed to fly by and it was nighttime, stars dotting the navy blue canvas that stretched above them.  
  
  
“I’m not afraid, you know,” Harry said suddenly. Louis propped himself up on an elbow, raised his eyebrows as Harry spoke. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. I know you don’t like to talk about it, but I’m not afraid. Of dying. I think it’ll be rather peaceful.”  
  
  
“I’m sure it will be,” Louis said quietly. “But we don’t have to worry about that, because you’ve lived to see seventeen, and so you’ll live to see eighteen and so on. You’ll grow old, Harry – if you can make it a year, you can beat it.”  
  
  
“Louis, not everyone works like Emma,” Harry’s voice was low and he blinked up at the sky. “She was little, Louis – too little. It works quicker on younger people than it does older. When it’s time for me to go, it’s time.”  
  
  
“Stop it,” Louis said, voice loud. He stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets, shifting from foot to foot. “Stop it, Harry, just – stop.”  
  
  
“I’m not afraid,” Harry sat up, pulled his knees to his chest and looked up at Louis. “You shouldn’t be either, Louis – it happens to everyone.”  
  
  
“It happened to Emma and I loved her and it’s not going to happen to you,” Louis shook his head firmly. “It doesn’t work like that. I can’t – I can’t do it all over again, Harry. I can’t.”  
  
  
“It’s not exactly your choice, when I die. It’s going to happen, and I know you know that.”  
  
  
“You can’t, Harry.” Louis voice cracked, and he hid his face in his hands, grabbing fistfuls of hair. “Don’t give up, Harry, not just yet – you’ve done so well, don’t give up.”  
  
  
“I’m not,” Harry said. “I’m just saying – when my body decides to stop trying, that’s when it’s my time. And I get to go somewhere great, somewhere that’s not like here. I could be a star, if I wanted to.” He stood up and wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist, pressing his mouth to his shirt. “Wouldn’t that be nice, Lou, if every time you looked up – there I was?”  
  
  
“Don’t give up,” Louis mumbled, shaking his head. “Promise me you won’t give up.”  
  
  
Harry grimaced, pulled back and held Louis’ face. “I promise, Louis – if it were up to me, I’d stay here forever. With you. But it’s quite out of my hands.”  
  
  
“I know,” Louis whispered, leaning forward to kiss him. “I just need you to try.”  
  
  
They folded up the blanket and drove back to Harry’s house, their fingers intertwined. Harry fluttered off to sleep, and Louis guided him up to his room. He climbed in bed after Harry, wrapped his arms around his thin frame and held him close, counting Harry’s heartbeats.  
  
  
 **+  
  
**  
Summer arrived, and the days seemed to blend together. Harry watched the weather from his bedroom window, smiled when his best friends came to visit him and told him stories of the girls they’d chased, the fun they’d had and how it wasn’t the same without him.  
  
  
Harry told Niall, Zayn and Liam that he loved them every time they left. He noted that they came to visit more often, and that they all had to leave the room at one point or another, walking back in with wet eyes and weak smiles. He made sure to tell them that they’ve been the best friends he’s ever had, and that he was thankful for everything they’ve done for him.  
  
  
He let Niall play as much guitar as he wanted to, enjoyed the way the three of them would sing Harry’s favorite songs, and press kisses to his forehead when he closed his eyes. He told them he’d miss them, and that they’d better make him proud.  
  
  
Harry gave Gemma back a necklace she had bought him just as he had turned sixteen – a small, silver paper airplane on a chain. She wore it around her neck and cried when he reached up to hold it between his fingers. He told her he loved her, he’d miss her, and she would always make him proud.  
  
  
He often made his mum come in and lay beside him, repeat the stories she used to tell him when he was little. In doing so, he was able to recreate a small piece of his childhood for her, something to hold close to her when her heart was aching and she found herself missing her only son. Harry held her hand as tight as he could. He told his mum he loved her, he’d miss her, and he hoped he had made her proud.  
  
  
Louis barged in his room one day, his face blotchy and his shirt wet, grabbing at his hair. He punched one of Harry’s walls, fell to the ground and pulled his knees to his chest, sobbed for a few minutes before looking up at Harry, shaking his head.  
  
  
“You promised,” He said, voice void of any emotion. “You said you wouldn’t give up.”  
  
  
“I haven’t,” Harry shrugged. “I’m still here Louis. Don’t kill me off yet.”  
  
  
“That’s not funny,” Louis sobbed, crawling into Harry’s bed and pressing his face to the curve of Harry’s neck and shoulder. “You can’t go Harry – God, you just can’t go, you can’t leave.”  
  
  
“I’m still here,” Harry repeated, reaching up to smooth Louis’ hair. “I haven’t gone anywhere, Louis, I haven’t.”  
  
  
“I love you,” He cried, kissing any part of Harry’s face he could reach. “I love you so much, and I don’t want you to ever forget that. I love you so, so much, Harry – please, just, remember that.”  
  
  
Harry smiled and kissed Louis back, closed his eyes. “I love you too, Louis. I don’t want _you_ to ever forget that.”  
  
  
Louis had cried for a while, before kissing Harry and leaving, hugging Harry’s mum and Gemma as he left. When he got home, he went straight into his own mum’s room, sobbed into her shoulder as she patted his head and tried to soothe him.  
  
  
Harry dreamed of the sky that night. The sky and all its colors – red and blue and pink, orange and yellow and navy. He dreamed of the stars, spread across the sky, shining down on the people who still remained. He dreamed of a small girl with missing front teeth and blue eyes and blonde pigtails, giggling as she tugged on his hand. He dreamed of flying, he dreamed of being free of pain and treatments. He looked down at his own body, and he was sixteen and beautiful and free of cancer.  
  
  
When Harry’s mum went in to check on him the next morning, she covered her mouth and sobbed at her beautiful baby boy lying still.  
  
  
 **+  
  
**  
Louis walks around the bright white halls making sure everything is going smoothly. He stops to adjust some brightly colored tulips on a secretary’s desk, rearranges some toys in the recreation room, and makes sure the disco ball that hangs from the ceiling in the big room at the end of the hall is shiny and gleaming.  
  
  
And, like he does every day, he makes sure the picture of a curly haired sixteen year old boy hangs properly on the wall, smiling down at anybody who enters the cancer ward.  
  
  
“Hi, Dr. Tomlinson,” A small girl with a fuzzy pink hat and missing front teeth grins up at him from her hospital bed. “You look very handsome today.”  
  
  
He reaches out and pinches at her cheek, sending her into a fit of giggles. “You look beautiful today, Emma – you look beautiful every day, though.”  
  
  
“Thank you,” She says shyly, and he grins.  
  
  
“Feeling alright?”  
  
  
“Yeah,” She replies, sitting back and playing with the long, blonde hair of her doll.  
  
  
“That’s good to hear,” He nods, and reaches out to pat her head. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”  
  
  
Her big green eyes blink up at him as she smiles and nods, and Louis leaves her room, going to check on the rest of his patients.  
  
  
It’s been ten years since Harry passed away, and Louis sees him in everything he does.  
  
  
He graduated from uni in the top of his class, and went on to medical school to become a doctor. He chose to go into the cancer field because the disease had become too entangled in his life for Louis to ignore. He chose to work in a children’s cancer ward because it made sense to him – he was helpless for the first two people he met, and he didn’t want to be helpless to the people he’d meet along the road to the rest of his life. He wanted to help, to give somebody hope that they could take this disease head on and live to tell the tale.  
  
  
Anybody who asks him _why_ , anyone who comments _being a doctor in the cancer ward must be hard_ – he tells them the story of a precious five year old girl and a smiling sixteen year old boy who taught him what it means to be a fighter, and what it means to love.


End file.
